


The Cold, Cold Sea

by Spocksandshoes



Category: Dreamfall, Dreamfall Chapters, The Longest Journey
Genre: Almost Romance, Bromance, Character Death, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Post-Game(s), Sadness, hints of romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5369567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spocksandshoes/pseuds/Spocksandshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a good day, in a quiet place, Kian Alvane plans to pay his debts.<br/>He suspects that Likho wishes that he wouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cold, Cold Sea

Arcadia seemed quiet.

The beach certainly was, waves murmuring against the shore as Kian crunched by, through the damp sand.  
The sun was high today, sea breeze snapping at his clothes as he walked. Grey gulls wheeled lazily overhead, and he stopped and paused to look at them, taking a greedy breath of that crisp air.

He had promised that he'd go to a beach like Ge'en, after everything was normal once more. With a picnic basket and a blanket, and make a day of it. No fighting, no Azadi.

He was here to keep that promise. As well as one other.

The Apostle scooped up a handful of water and watched it run through his fingers, feeling something gentle settle over his heart, softly shooing away the weight that normally crouched snug where the peace sat now.  
He stood, wiped his hands on his pants, and continued.

The perfect spot was on a small Cliffside overlooking the sea. The grass was rough and mixed with sand, but he set the blanket down and weighed down the ends with stones regardless. It was perfect. Two plates, a bottle of sweetened ale, yams baked soft and smothered in sweet spices, cold roasted chicken, and soft almond cakes.  
He set them out plate by plate, uncorked the bottle, and took a gleeful swig before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

After a while, someone sat next to him.  
Likho took the plate he was offered, and loaded it up with chicken, crumbling the meat into strips with his fingers before he ate. Kian offered him the bottle, and Likho took a long drink before passing it back.  
Likho started humming at some point, after they'd demolished the food. Kian sat and watched the waves and listened, soaking up the moment, trying to remember every detail.

They didn't speak for hours, content in their silent companionship.

''A perfect day.'' Kian said, almost to himself, when the air had cooled and the sun dipped over the horizon.  
He stood, dusting his clothes off. ''You can kill me now.''

Likho's head snapped up to look at him, almond cake frozen halfway to his mouth. 

Kian stretched, allowing himself to enjoy the pull and bunch in his muscles, tense shoulders wringing loose. He swung his arms a few times and stepped forward, feeling completely calm.  
''How do you want me, kneeling, standing?''

Likho's lips thinned, his good eye staring over Kian in quite disbelief, before he nodded, deliberate and composed as always.  
The Dolmari went to unsheathe one of the many knives he kept on his person, and Kian stared at the clouds, feeling calm.

He thought of his home, of the safety with the Sisters, of the scraped knuckles and empty bellies of living in the streets. The kind bakers willing to spare stale bread, the sting of the marks etched across his face. He thought of his mother, of Sheppard and Enu and April Ryan, of Anna and Balsay Bachim and a dozen other faces who brought him meaning. Most of those faces were there when he closed his eyes, waiting for him on the other side.

He thought of Likho. His anger, his laugh, his sorrow over Enu. Over his father. Wounds Kian caused.

But he could heal it, if he tried. He could give this man his blood, if his blood would heal those hurts.

''Standing.'' Likho said eventually, something catching in his voice. ''Like my father was. When you _killed_ him.'' It seemed like he was trying to rile himself up, pulling rage from where a soft afternoon had quieted it.

Kian nodded, and stood closer, toeing his boots off to wriggle his toes in the grass. Today was a good day.

''Likho.''

''Yes?'' The Dolmari seemed surprised, and uneasy, for such a steadfast man. He had seen Likho kill countless people without so much as a reaction. But here, he seemed hesitant, if only barely. Because somewhere along the way, they had become friends. Somewhere along the way, the lines had softened and given way to genuine caring. Would they ever have been the joyful sort of bosom buddies? 

Perhaps not, Kian thought, but there was a bond, linking them. 

''Did it ever anger you that the Azadi would accept you for loving men, but spurn you for being an Dolmari, while your own kind would do the opposite?''  
Likho glared at him, clearly not expecting that question from a condemned man. ''Of course it did.'' 

Kian nodded. ''You don't have to take what meagre acceptance they offer.'' He said finally. ''Find somewhere where you can be both.''

''This is what you chose to tell me ? Now!?''

''Yes. You told me once that it must not be easy to be feared and hated by both sides. It isn't. You deserve better.''  
Likho swallowed heavily and held his knife aloft. ''Shut up. I don't need this from you.''

''I think you do. You told me once you trusted me. Likho, trust me now. Please.''

He held out his hand, but instead Likho batted it aside and hugged him. A proper, strong hug, and Kian barely grasped the concept of what was happening before he slowly moved his arms and hugged Likho back.

The sea splashed in the distance, and Kian hoped the water was warm.

''Goodbye Kian.'' Likho muttered, and Kian closed his eyes, hands pressed flat against the smooth worn leather of Likho's shoulder-strap. The Dolmari's white hair tickled his cheek, arms anchoring them together. He let out a long, slow breath.

''Goodbye Likho.''

He vaguely remembered Likho telling him that he would feel every twist of the knife when he died, but this knife was kind, slipping in between his ribs. Likho was moving, kneeling as his knees buckled and bracing Kian against him. It hurt, goddess it hurt, but the world pitched and tilted and then he was lying on the blanket, the smell of spiced wine and almonds on the sea air, the crash of waves on the shore. His head pillowed in something soft.

Kian reached for a hand, and found fingers grasping his palm, holding him together.

There was silence for a few minutes, as the pain grew sharper, more awful. His shirt was sticking to his skin . He heard Likho's breathing, heavy and jagged. He wondered if the Dol-Intiqua had realised yet that he'd miss Kian. 

''I'm sorry.'' He managed, and the hand holding his squeezed softly.

''...Blood for blood. You've earned your forgiveness.''

The small laugh felt like it had to be torn out of him, gargling somewhere in his throat. But it felt wonderful. Absolution, bathing him clean of his sins. Perhaps the Goddess would not accept him, but the people he fought for did. Likho did.

''Goodbye Likho. Live well.''

''Goodbye, Kian, go to your goddess.''

Kian took a final laboured breath, and before he slipped into unconsciousness, gave himself to the sea, the hand wrapped in his as his guide home.


End file.
